


Dexterity

by MaddieWritesStucky (Madeleine_Ward)



Series: SugarVerse [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Anal Fingering, Bisexual Steve Rogers, CEO Steve Rogers, College Student Bucky Barnes, Daddy Kink, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, Oral Sex, daddy Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26970367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madeleine_Ward/pseuds/MaddieWritesStucky
Summary: It feels so sordid, like this...Steve fully dressed in business attire and ready to walk out the front door, save for his pants being halfway down his thighs and Bucky’s fingers buried deep inside him.His untouched dick is leaking a wet patch onto the front of his button-up and neither of them give a shit, because it’ll get tucked into his pants once they’re done anyway, and they don’t need to speak a word of their shared possessive streak to know they wouldn’t have it any other way.Steve should have left for work fifteen minutes ago.Steve should know better than to step into the V of Bucky’s spread thighs when he scoots to the edge of the mattress and offers to show Steve how much he’ll miss him today.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: SugarVerse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689322
Comments: 10
Kudos: 234





	Dexterity

**Author's Note:**

> For the jbbKinktober2020 prompt - Fingering
> 
> I'm maddiewritesstucky on tumblr if you wanna drop me a line x

Bucky used to play piano, when he was a kid.

His grandmother had grabbed him by the hands one day when he was eight years old, and proudly proclaimed to her living room full of houseplants that _these,_ **_these_ ** _are pianist hands!_

Bucky didn’t know what exactly it was that designated his hands as that of a pianist as opposed to a guitarist, or a painter, or a sculptor. But from that day on, every Thursday after school, he’d walk with her to the old church down the street from her house, and sit in front of the keys with a woman named Lucille who taught him how to play songs he had never heard of. 

Most of them hymns, all of them before Bucky’s time and far outside of what he’d consider _his_ kind of music, but it would make his grandmother smile; her eyes drifting shut as she’d sit in the pews and nod her head and hum along. 

So he kept at it. He kept at it long enough that he came to develop an appreciation of his ‘pianist hands’ and their ability to dance across the black and white, weaving a melody that would make people smile.

As he grew into a young man, he came to appreciate all the ways those slender, dexterous fingers could also be used to draw sounds out of others that would make _him_ smile. 

Like right now, with the heat of Steve’s body clutching painfully tight around his index and middle fingers; Steve biting off curses as Bucky rubs maddening circles over his prostate.

“You’re gonna be late to work, Daddy,” Bucky hums, entirely void of genuine concern as he looks up from under his lashes.

It feels so sordid, like this...Steve fully dressed in business attire and ready to walk out the front door, save for his pants being halfway down his thighs and Bucky’s fingers buried deep inside him. 

His untouched dick is leaking a wet patch onto the front of his button-up and neither of them give a shit, because it’ll get tucked into his pants once they’re done anyway, and they don’t need to speak a word of their shared possessive streak to know they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Steve should have left for work fifteen minutes ago.

Steve should know better than to step into the V of Bucky’s spread thighs when he scoots to the edge of the mattress and offers to show Steve how much he’ll miss him today.

“Little harder, baby...” Steve’s hands knead at Bucky’s bare shoulders; steadying himself or just for the sake of touching, Bucky wants it either way. 

He presses at the bundle of nerves beneath his fingertips, pushes his thumb up against Steve’s perineum to rub at it from the outside too, and Steve tips his head back on a low groan. His body is strung taut, his thighs tensing and twitching, fingers gripping Bucky tight. 

He’s close, and Bucky wants to back off and draw it out; wants the desperate whimper and the hard line between Steve’s brows, and the pointed look that reminds Bucky just how thin the ice is here where Steve is gifting him the upper hand. 

But Steve should have left for work fifteen minutes ago.

Bucky knows better than to push his luck.

He buries his face in Steve’s chest and inhales deep, the warmth and scent of Steve’s skin right there beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. It’s so achingly familiar, lights up all the same parts of his brain where everything _home_ and _safe_ and _loved_ lives, and he presses his lips over the rhythmic kicking of Steve’s heart.

“Come on my fingers,” he says, leaving the words muffled against Steve’s shirt. 

He strokes at Steve’s insides, deep and slow and relentless, and Steve’s moans turn breathless; pitching higher when Bucky pushes the hem of his shirt up and takes the very tip of Steve’s cock loosely between his lips. 

Bucky knows how that feels, being held like that; no tongue, no suction, just _kept_. It’s a kind of vulnerability that Bucky otherwise struggles to give Steve, unable to wrap him up and surround him and overwhelm him with his physical presence the way that Steve does for him. 

But he gives him this - a warm, wet place to let go. 

“ _Come on my fingers_ ,” he murmurs again around Steve’s sensitive flesh, says it quiet and insistent, and Steve listens. 

He comes with his hands threaded desperately through Bucky’s hair, his release caught in the careful warmth of Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky feels that climax as if it were his own. 

He’ll take care of himself soon, once Steve’s left. He’ll climb back under the covers on Steve’s side of the bed, where it’s still a little sleep-warm and smells like Steve; touch himself with Steve’s wrecked whispers on loop in his head, _so good, Bucky...make Daddy feel so good_ …

“Bucky…” Steve strokes grateful fingertips over his cheeks as Bucky swallows what he’s given him, licking clean his softening length and slipping his fingers from the tight heat of Steve’s body. 

Steve’s staring down at him with every night they’ve spent together sitting right there in his gaze, want and wonder and _what was my life before you?_ , and Bucky doesn’t even have a chance to zip up Steve’s fly before Steve’s sinking to his knees in front of him. 

“Steve, you’re gonna be _so late..._ ” 

It might hold more weight if Bucky weren’t smiling, if he weren’t falling back against the mattress and hitching a leg up over Steve’s shoulder even as he sighs his protest. 

Steve’s agreement would hold a lot more weight if he weren’t loosening his tie and undoing the top few buttons of his shirt.

“Mm,” he sighs heavily, dragging the flat of his tongue over the heat between Bucky’s thighs, “...very, _very_ late.” 


End file.
